And while Draper is a fictional character, his refusal to feign shock is grounded in something real.

"Somehow the pieces seemed to fit into place," the longtime Hollywood correspondent Bob Thomas wrote for the Associated Press just days after Monroe's death. "It looked inevitable in retrospect that her 36-year-old life would end so tragically."

It always looks inevitable—in retrospect. That much hasn't changed. The tragedy is in what has.

Fifty years ago, not long removed from the all-powerful, PR-controlling studio machine, there was only silence from stars on their demons. There were only demises by overdose and suicide that looked inevitable—in retrospect.

Don Draper, his worldview informed by writers possessed of hindsight, may have not been surprised by Monroe's subsequent death from too many sleeping pills, but for the rest of 1962, the picture only became clear after the fact—in retrospect.

It's no sure thing Monroe would have lived longer had dialogues about recovery and treatment existed, or if outlets like the "Violent Torpedo of Truth" tour had given her a place to vent en route to her next big-money deal.

Outside of the conspiracy theories that now inevitably work their way into all big stories, including Monroe's, there is no sure thing. That much hasn't changed. And that is its own tragedy.